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slam poetry

in his guarded tent
i expect you
no prey am i of poor thoughts
over the river they beckon to me
awful truths these be
in an old chamber softly lit
what spiteful chance steals unawares
since, if you stood by my side today
i said, i have shut my heart
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
rocked in the cradle of the deep
risen from the dead

 



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